(via fuckyeahskinnybitch)

So I am in Copenhagen. I haven’t seen the sun yet here, but I bet the city looks amazing under some light.

The flight here was surprisingly pleasant. On my first flight to Paris, France, I had resolved to get drunk enough to let myself go to sleep. I asked for a bottle of wine, and the woman flight attendant gave me one and walked away. The male flight attendant looks at me with sad eyes, and shortly returned in secret with a glass full of something else. He speaks to me in hushed french. I don’t understand. Then he says, “try this, it is better.”

It was good wine. Then I watched 500 days of summer. It was also good. He comes by with another glass of wine. This one was better than the first.

I finally pass out. I wake up and there is a rose folded out of a napkin left on my fold out table. This is quite possibly the cutest thing ever. I think about how great it would be to join the mile high club with the flight attendant.. This doesn’t happen though. He did say some things to me in french when I was leaving the plane, but I couldn’t understand. LE SIGH.

Other than that, I had an entertaining time with the woman next to me who was on her way to Yemen. She was a staunch republican, but was really into Arab rights and told me some stories of her telling stupid white people what was really up. She’s fluent in arabic and told me how she her son loves it when she says “lalalalalalala” even though it means no repeatedly in arabic, since it sounds so funny and nice anyway.

I had to wait 3 hours in Paris for my connecting flight. By this time I was strung out, because on the plane I really got maybe an hour of sleep at most. I was all hopped up on Copenhagen, the irony of this woman, and also my new future french flight attendant husband.

But anyway, I finally got into Copenhagen. It was dark. I had to take the metro and meet them somewhere in the city. The directions were simple enough, except most of the streets did not have street signs. But luckily, at the eleventh hour, I found some people I knew.

Now I am feeling completely unprepared. I am at the UN conference building, waiting for my accreditation to come through. I realized today how idiotic it was not to bring a real backpack, since I need something to carry around my laptop along with my camera in. I also need to buy a cheap phone. bleerrrrrrggggg logistics. Soon as all this is taken care of though, I’ll start to feel less worried about the possibility of me being stranded on these cold cold streets. But really it’s a lovely city, so far. I’m excited about the actual conference, but it’s a little overwhelming right now. There is a lot of bureaucracy.

ipictureyouinthesun:

(via gatekeeper)

cometomebrucelee:

mrpinky:summerdiary:colinh:novh:(via likeneelyohara)

NUH UH

cometomebrucelee:

greendance:wknamb:

teamwork

(via executiveproducerdickwolf)

I think I’ve had mine for that long…fuck.

I look outside. It’s the USPS delivery. I run outside before she could get to the door. She looks at me, then the package, suspiciously. 

“Hello!”

“hi…….”

(I think she was hoping she’d get away without human contact.)

I take the package, sign for it. Never looks me in the eye.

And I say, 

“Have a great day!”

I just smoked out of an orange. Destroy all evidence. Being home rules. 

So, we had the footage overnighted from Berkeley to here, guaranteed delivery by 2:00pm EST. 

It’s 2:30, and no package. No doorbell ring. No notice. I’ve been home the whole time, soo..

So I call the post office. First I get some woman that directs me to another number to call. I call that number. The next woman says she can’t do anything for me until I have a tracking number, not even if I have the ingoing and outgoing addresses. She’s also indignant about this.

So I call Jake, and get the tracking number. I call this woman back. She says the package must be coming tomorrow at 12.

But, we had it *overnighted* That means it should be here today. Excuse me for being impatient, but we fucking paid for your timeliness.

So I start freaking out. I check online with the tracking number, and lo and behold it got into Catonsville at 10:30. That woman was lying. She probably didn’t even check. I call her back and she quickly gives me the first number to call and check.

So, by the way, I live 5 minutes from the post office. I call this first woman back, and she’s like..hmm.. the carrier has the package. I can’t give you any more information than that. It was *guaranteed* to come by 2. It’s not here. She tells me it could come anytime from now until 6. So while I was planning on going out somewhere today, I have to be house arrest so that the usps people can mosey on over here when they feel like it to drop off my package, and that’s if I’m lucky, if they’re in the mood. WHERE IS MY MAIL. WHERE IS IT. GIVE IT TO ME.

I know these people are underpaid, but god damn, I’d be willing to pay a couple bucks if this wasn’t like..consistently how it is. Come the fuck on, we also paid you extra so you could get it to us in time. Sometime today would be nice. Especially since it reached 5 minutes away from here 4 hours ago.

fuuuuuuck usps. come the fuck on.

I feel like I can’t even shit or shower, but to lay in wait for these elusive sonsofbitches to get this package here.

bobhayes:

600 strong at the University of Maryland. My definition of a good day. The Washington Post and the Diamondback covered the event quite nicely. Also, I had an opportunity to picture message a Post reporter.

I’m still into this.